


The Big, Bad Wolf

by NorthCountryGirl



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cannibal Star references, F/M, Joffrey Baratheon is his own warning, Sansan Russian Roulette 2018, Sassy Arya Stark, Summer, Violence but it's Joffrey so it's okay, sansan, summer sansan russian roulette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-09 01:02:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15255966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthCountryGirl/pseuds/NorthCountryGirl
Summary: Prompt: Sansa's car breaks down on a hot summer day and Sandor the trucker comes to her rescue.





	The Big, Bad Wolf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hebrides](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hebrides/gifts).



> Hey guys, this is a short for the SanSan Summer Russian Roulette that spun wildly out of control...LOL It's a bit odd, but I hope you like it anyway. Please forgive any typos, I haven't had a chance to proof it properly yet! xoxo

Sansa would have been tired if she wasn’t so scared.

As the sun sank beyond the mountains, the temperature dipped drastically. After hours waiting for the tow truck in ninety-degree heat, she welcomed the cold. She rubbed her bare arms, swatting away a mosquito the size of a bird. Out here the trees seemed endless, their shadows stretching toward her like so many knarled fingers in the dusk. Clutching her keys between her knuckles, she searched the growing darkness for predators.

A wolf howled in the distance. Wolves were the least of her worries out here. She’d be thrilled to see a wolf at this point. A wolf, a bear, a komodo fucking dragon. Did they have those in Wyoming?

Hell, was she even still _in_ Wyoming?

It had been nine hours since she’d seen civilization. Well, the kind of civilization with a Starbucks. Same thing, right? She tossed one more suspicious look toward the horizon and got back into her car, locking the door behind her. She clicked the lock button on the key fob once more out of impulse, the honk echoing through the forest and startling a family of deer grazing nearby.

“Shit.” she muttered to herself. If there was anyone out here, they would have heard that for sure. Usually that would be good thing, but she didn’t know who was out there, and she didn’t care to find out. Every story she’d ever heard about serial killers waiting for victims in the woods came back to her in a flood of horrible mental images of buried murder kits and dismembered bodies. In retrospect, maybe today hadn’t been the best day to marathon _My Favorite Murder_. It was Arya’s favorite podcast, and while they did give some very good advice (including “stay out of the forest” – too late), if she hadn’t binged six episodes before her tire blew, she might have more than 2% of her battery left.

She looked at her phone for the millionth time, just in case AAA had called back.

No calls. No messages. No signal.

No chance anybody was going to find her out here.

Well, maybe Joffrey would.

Even though it was still stuffy in the car, goosebumps prickled her skin. He was out there, him or one of his psycho frat bros. He’d been tracking her since she left Minneapolis. She’d spotted him that morning when she’d stopped for gas. She’d driven away from him like a bat out of hell, turning and doubling back erratically to try to lose him. She knew she should look for a police station, but his family was so well connected, she wasn’t sure she could trust them even out here. When her tire went mid afternoon, she pulled over and popped the trunk only to find that her weekend bag, her emergency kit, and the spare tire were all gone.

She always kept her car locked. The only way he could have stolen her things was to take her keys and put them back without her noticing, and that idea chilled her to her bones. What she wouldn’t give for her university sweatshirt right now. Her bottle of water. Her phone charger. She still had the mace keychain her brother had given her when she’d left for school, so that was something. She clutched it to her chest, trying to remember the self-defense tips her sister had given her the last time she’d seen her.

_Go for the eyes, idiot._

The receding birdsong was slowly accompanied by a distant hum. The hair stood on the back of her neck. Could that be help at last, or had Joffrey finally found her? She crouched lower in her seat, peering down the road. The hum was louder now, and she could hear the crunch of gravel beneath heavy wheels. Headlights flashed over the hill, and a truck came into view. Was it the tow truck?

It didn’t even matter at this point as long as it wasn’t Joffrey, and he would never be caught dead in anything less flashy than his bright red Mustang with gold rims.

Without letting herself overthink it, she jumped out of the car and ran into the middle of the road, trying to flag down the truck with both arms. Maybe a hundred yards away, she heard the breaks screaming, but the truck kept barreling forward at a terrifying speed. The truck’s brights flashed at her in warning, but she just kept waving. “Help!”

As the truck got closer, it barely seemed to slow. The driver jerked the wheel and for one nauseating moment, Sansa thought the whole thing was about to topple over into the woods. It wasn’t full of gas or something flammable, was it? She ran the other way, instinctively taking cover behind her car.

The semi screeched to a stop. The hinges of the driver’s side door creaked open, and she could hear the man cursing from the other side of the road. “Are you trying to kill us both?!” he bellowed. “What were you thinking?! Do you have any idea how hard it is to stop a goddamned semi?!”

The man’s huge work boots appeared in front of her. She looked up.

And up.

And up.

The man was an actual giant. He was wearing some kind of fatigues--worn-in brown trousers and an olive green shirt over a black t-shirt. A set of silver dog tags hung from a ball chain around his neck--real dog tags, not the fake crap she’d seen around campus. She half-expected to see Robert De Niro’s character in _Taxi Driver_ looking down at her, but the man’s face was shadowed by the brim of his hat. All she could make out was a beard and a scowl.

His name was embroidered over his left pocket. Expecting “Bob” or “Gene,” she blinked hard and read it again.

_Hound._

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered to herself. She cleared her throat. “I’m so sorry, sir. I thought you were my tow truck. I’ve been waiting here for six hours, and I’m scared out of my mind. Please, is there any way I could ride with you to the nearest town? My phone—”

He was still clearly angry, but his tone had softened. “Stop your chirping, girl. Do I look like a ‘sir’ to you?”

Her eyes fluttered over a broad chest, massive biceps, and hands roughly the size of her head. She could almost hear her sorority sister Margaery giggling that he looked more like a ‘Daddy.’ Sansa would call him anything he wanted if he’d get her out of here. She blushed in spite of herself.

What the hell was wrong with her?

She took a breath to steady her nerves. It was almost totally dark now, and his was the only other vehicle she’d seen in hours. He was probably her only chance of getting out of here. “Mister—Hound? I’m sorry I frightened you. If you won’t give me a ride, will you at least let me use your phone to call for help? I don’t know where I am.”

One of those hands appeared in front of her face to help her up. “Don’t cry,” he said. “I won’t hurt you.”

Sansa believed him. She might have been an idiot—Joffrey had certainly told her so often enough—but she believed him. She took his hand in hers, wiping her eyes with the other. Should she tell him it was relief, not fear, that had made her cry?

He set her on her feet easily enough, and she finally got a good look at his face.

Her heart dropped into her stomach.

Half his face was covered in angry red scars. What had happened to him, she could only guess. The other half was untouched. His scowl spoke of frustration, disappointment, and resignation, but his eyes were soft and sad.

“Take a good look,” he said. “You still want that ride?”

She followed him around the front of the car, grabbing her purse out of the front seat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. If you don’t mind, si—erm, Mr. Hound, I would very much appreciate a ride as far as you’re willing to take me.”

He frowned at that. “The next town I’m passing through is Thermopolis. Where are you going?”

“I have a hotel reservation in Cheyenne for the night. Are we close?”

He gave a bitter laugh. “We’re about five hours out. I’ll take you there if you want. Do you have to stay with the car?”

She shook her head. “I think they forgot about me. I’ll call AAA and tell them where it is when I can charge my phone.”

“AAA?” He scratched his beard. “They don’t usually come out here.”

She stumbled. “Where am I?”

“Ass end of nowhere.” He opened the passenger side door for her. “Service road just outside the Bighorn National Forest. This place isn’t even on the map.”

Sansa shivered. They never would have found her.

She looked up into the scowling face of her would-be savior.

Maybe they still wouldn’t.

It was probably stupid to blindly trust a stranger like this, but what choice did she have? If she stayed out here, either Joffrey would find her or no one would. She wasn’t sure which was worse.

“You’re cold.” Hound observed. “You got any bags or anything in that Barbie dream car of yours?”

She shook her head, teeth chattering now. “They were stolen.”

He muttered a curse and slipped out of his shirt. Before she knew what he was doing, he’d draped the olive green flannel around her shoulders. The action was so intimate, it startled her. Still, she pulled it closer around her chest. It was so long that it

reached her knees, and it smelled like whiskey and wood smoke.

For the first time in a long time, Sansa felt safe.

She climbed into the truck, and he closed the door after her.

***

The road unfurled like a length of black ribbon through the night. The cab of the semi was warm, but she didn’t want to give her knight in shining aluminum—or steel or whatever this thing was made of—his shirt back. She idly traced the embroidery of his name patch with her thumb.

“Is ‘Hound’ your real name?” she asked.

He huffed, sounding a bit like, well, a bit like his namesake. “No.”

She shot a look at his face. From the passenger seat, all she could see was scar tissue and beard. His shaggy dark hair half-covered what was left of his ear on that side. “How did you get it?”

“It’s a long story.”

She waited for him to tell it. He didn’t. “May I ask…erm, your scars…did you get those in the war?”

“I don’t want to talk about the war,” he said. “Any of them.”

“Of course.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. She was only trying to be polite, but it seemed she couldn’t say anything right. “Where are you from?”

He didn’t answer. He reached between them and turned up the radio.

Sansa sighed. This was going to be a long five hours.

She checked her phone. That last 1% of her battery was doing a heroic job of holding out. A bar blinked and she held her breath, suddenly hopeful. Did she finally have reception? She typed out a quick message to her sister:

_Running late. Car broke down in Wyoming. In a semi with a guy called Hound in case I disappear._

Arya answered immediately:

_R U OK????????? If he tries anything, punch him in the throat!_

Sansa started to reply, but the screen went black. Her phone was finally dead.

She dropped it into her purse, clutching the whole bag to her chest like a teddy bear. Not for the first time that day, her eyes darted to the side mirror. Was there any chance Joffrey would find her in this truck?

No way. This rust bucket was about as far away from her periwinkle VW convertible as could be. Never in a million years would Joffrey expect her to get near it, let alone be brave enough to climb inside. She was safe as safe could be.

Probably.

Another set of headlights appeared behind them and her shoulders tightened. She watched them get closer until the car eventually passed them and sped off into the night. It was a little blue Camry, not a red Mustang. Nothing to worry about.  
As if to reassure her, some familiar power chords blared over the radio, and Sansa found herself smiling at her reflection in the window. “Sun in her smile and eyes of blue, sweet Little Bird, what can I do?” she sang to herself, the lyrics coming back to her even though she hadn’t heard them since high school. Her brothers had found her dad’s old Cannibal Star CDs and played them to death the summer she turned seventeen. While some of it was a bit grimmer than she liked, she’d felt like this one was written just for her. She always wanted to be like the girl in the song, with her ‘good girl talk and bad girl legs’.

She stopped singing when she realized Hound was smiling. “What?”

He almost laughed. She knew it. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-three,” she said. “Why?”

“You know all the words.” He glanced at her. “Isn’t Cannibal Star a bit before your time?”

“I can be into Cannibal Star,” she said defensively. “Why? How old are you?”

“Old enough to know better,” he muttered. “What’s a twenty-three year old doing alone in Wyoming in a Barbie car?”

“It’s not a Barbie car,” she insisted. “Just because Barbie has one now doesn’t mean I didn’t get mine first.”

“I beg your pardon. Barbie has a _you_ car.” His voice dripped sarcasm. “What’s your name?”

“Sansa. What’s your real name?”

He glanced at her as if he was unsure whether or not to answer. “Sandor.”

She smiled to herself. “That’s better than ‘Hound.’”

He snorted. “It’s the Hound.”

“The Hound?” she repeated. “Like the artist formerly known as Prince?”

“That’s another old reference.” He frowned at her. “Are you sure you’re twenty-three?”

“I’m from Minnesota.”

“Is Minnesota stuck in 1987?”

She had meant that she knew all about Prince because of the Minnesota connection, but now that he mentioned it… “Yeah. Yeah, basically.”

The silence stretched between them like a mile of empty asphalt.

Sansa never liked the silence. “I was driving to see my sister.”

“She in Cheyenne?”

“New Mexico. Just outside of Albuquerque. She’s doing some crazy defense thing for the FBI or the ATF or some other acronym. She’s vague about it. She’s an intern, probably just answers phones.”

“You’re coming from Minnesota?” he asked. “Why the hell are you out here? You don’t know the terrain. It’s dangerous.”

_Not as dangerous as staying where I was._ “I wanted to see the mountains.” She was only half-lying. She wanted to take an unexpected route so Joffrey wouldn’t follow her, but he’d found her all the same.

His threats came back to her, and she shivered. She pulled Sandor’s flannel shirt closer around her chest and instantly felt safer. Was there any chance he’d let her keep it?

“Who are you running from?”

Her blood ran cold. “Wh-what do you mean?”

He sighed, not unkindly. “You keep checking the mirrors, and you almost fainted when that car passed us. Your bags were stolen and somebody let air out of your tires. There’s no way you could have found that access road on purpose. You’re running from somebody.”

She stared at him in open-mouthed shock. Either he was very perceptive or—

Oh God, was he in on it?

Her heart hammered in her ears. How much could she trust this guy? If she told him, either he’d help her or he’d want nothing more to do with her and drop her off on the side of the road. If he was in on it and just messing with her, she was dead already.

He glanced at her with those sad dark eyes, and something shifted. Joffrey had been a textbook sociopath – charming, charismatic, prone to violent outbursts and acts of unspeakable cruelty. He’d always had weirdly flat blue eyes, like nothing could get in or out. He was unreadable.

Sandor, though—Sandor wasn’t charming enough to be a sociopath. Everything he thought showed on his face whether he wanted it to or not. He was short-tempered and rude, but oddly considerate.

She could probably trust him.

“My ex-boyfriend,” she said finally. “He’s been following me for days.”

He looked genuinely startled. “Why?”

She shrugged. “He likes to torture me.”

His lip curled. “Is this a sex thing?”

Sansa almost wretched. “Eeew, no!” She’d never had sex with him—or anyone—but Grizzly Adams here didn’t need to know that. “We were kind of engaged. Our parents wanted it. He abused me for a year, and now that I’ve left him, he won’t let me go.”

A scarlet flush climbed his throat to his beard. “Did you call the cops?”

She shook her head. “His grandfather owns them. His family does, really.”

“What do you mean?” He frowned.

“His grandfather’s a senator.”

Sandor was quiet for a good minute. “What are you going to do when you get to Cheyenne?”

She swallowed. She was still trying to figure that out. “Rent a car. Keep driving.”

“You can’t rent a car until you’re twenty-five,” he pointed out, unhelpfully. “Can you call your parents?”

Just like that, she was going to cry again. “My, erm…my parents passed away last year.”

Sandor nodded. He didn’t offer his condolences, but he seemed to understand. “I’ll get you to your hotel, and you can call your sister.”

***

It was after nine by the time they reached Douglas. For the past half hour, the girl had been slowly eating a pack of breath mints, one right after another. A fool could see she was hungry. Without saying a word, he pulled into Peggy’s Pies, a 24-hour truck stop café he’d been to once or twice. The huge neon sign could be seen for a miles, a giant slice of cherry pie bleeding into the night sky.

It lit up her face as she gazed at it in wonder. “Are we stopping?”

He parked the truck at the end of the lot. There were two other big rigs toward the back, one of them a sleeper. He looked for Bronn’s fuzzy dice, but this one just had a hula girl on the dash. No one he knew. Trucking was a solitary life, and it suited him.

Well, mostly.

He stole a glance at the girl’s mile-long legs stretched out beneath his old green shirt. Feeling like the dirty old man he almost definitely was, he looked away and opened the door. “Come on, Little Bird. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”

She opened her mouth at the reference to the song she’d been singing, but she didn’t argue. She climbed out of the truck before he could open the door for her and scrambled after him as fast as those legs could carry her. She was tall for a woman and kept pace with him easily, but then again, maybe she just really wanted some pie.

As he held open the door for her, the bell above it tinkled. She flashed him a blinding smile and for a moment, he forgot he was supposed to go in after her. Girls didn’t smile at him like that. Hell, girls didn’t even look at him on purpose. Either this one was unusually brave or legally blind.

He went in after her, following her and the waiter to a red leather booth with a clear view of the half-empty parking lot. Sansa looked at the pie cabinet with longing, and he had the sudden urge to buy her one of each.

After the waiter returned and took their orders—sandwiches, coffee, and pie for dessert—the girl settled into the booth and smiled at him like he hung the moon. “I like this place. It has kind of a retro ‘50s vibe.”

“I don’t think it’s retro if nothing has changed since the ‘50s.”

“Vintage, then. Even better.” She batted her eyelashes at him, and he realized she was teasing him.

Wait, no. Was she _flirting?_

This disturbing train of thought was interrupted by the arrival of their coffee. The girl drank hers like it was the best thing she’d ever tasted and not watered-down bilge that had been sitting there since five.

She looked up at him over the rim of the cup, her eyes the deepest, clearest blue he’d seen anywhere. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Startled, he shifted his gaze to the cup in his hands. He’d been thinking she was beautiful, but he had no business thinking that. He shouldn’t be trying to figure out exactly what shade of red her hair was (fox) or looking for constellations in the pale freckles the sun had scattered on her cheeks. He absolutely should not be focused on her rapturous expression and thinking of ways to put it there himself. Girls like Sansa did not let bad men like him close enough for anything like that, and they shouldn’t.

Still, his gaze slid down her throat to the swell of her breasts just visible above her tank top. His shirt covered most of her chest, but that inch or so he could see was more exciting than he could he could say.

She was still looking at him, expecting an answer.

He cleared his throat. “You’re not afraid to look at me.”

She smiled self-consciously. “Why should I be? You’ve been kind to me.”

“Doesn’t always work that way.”

“Maybe it should.” She finished her coffee. “So…where are you from?”

He shrugged. “Here and there. Mainly sleep in the truck or camp out.”

She pursed her lips. “You don’t like sharing much about yourself, do you?”

He frowned at his reflection in his coffee. Even after all these years, it still didn’t look like his face. “No one’s ever asked.”

When their food came, they fell into a companionable silence, and he took the opportunity to observe her more carefully. She glanced out at the parking lot every several seconds and watched the other diners like she was trying to figure out if she recognized them. He knew she was scared, but he hadn’t noticed the extent of it. There had been no indication of anyone following them, but after almost three hours in the truck with him, she still couldn’t relax. What had that dipshit done to her?

Someone had clearly tampered with her car. His hands clenched into fists. It was a goddamned miracle he’d found her out there. He’d only taken that road because he’d spent his day off camping in Big Horn. How she found it, he could only guess.

For all her sweet smiles and friendly conversation, it was clear she was still affected by the abuse. He knew the signs well; he’d grown up surrounded by them in his own home. He was only nine when his mother and sister were killed. It didn’t stop him from feeling guilty that he couldn’t stop it.

He was big enough to do something about it now, though.

His protective instincts flared, and he followed her gaze out into the parking lot just in time to see a flashy red Mustang pull in.

Sansa went pale as a ghost. “It’s him,” she said, panic in her voice. “I know you don’t know me, but—”

“Lock yourself in the bathroom,” he growled. “Don’t come out until I come get you.”

She obeyed without a word, flying down the short hallway like the hounds of hell were at her heels.

No sooner had she slammed the door, than the Mustang parked and blond kid climbed out of it. He swaggered into the café looking like a walking advertisement for prep schools and inbreeding. His polo shirt was tucked into spotless chinos and he had a sweater tied around his shoulders like a cape. His sunglasses hung off the back of his head, for fuck’s sake. Everything about this kid from his cocky sneer to the gleam of his shoes screamed ‘twat.’

Sandor disliked him immediately.

“I’m looking for a girl,” the kid announced to the café.

The half dozen other diners barely looked up. They knew enough to mind their own business.

“My beloved fiancée,” he continued. “Her car broke down. I think she’s hitchhiking. I’m afraid she might be in danger.” He’d chosen his words to elicit sympathy, but something about the way he said them twisted Sandor’s guts. This kid was bad news.

He paced the café from one end to the other, showing the diners a photo on his phone. “Has anyone seen her? Red hair, 5’10”, 34C.” His mouth quirked into a self-satisfied smile as mentioned her bra size. “Anyone?”

The kid stopped in front of Sandor, sizing him up. Most people recoiled from his scars and towering height, but this kid looked at him like he thought he owned him. His gaze flicked to the dog tags hanging around Sandor’s neck. “You, Dog.” He gestured to Sansa’s empty plate and coffee cup. Sandor hoped he didn’t notice the glitter lip gloss on the rim. “You waiting for someone?”

Sandor didn’t blink. “Just hungry.”

The kid almost laughed. “Do you always eat so much?”

“I eat little twats like you for breakfast,” he grumbled. “Best be on your way before I get hungry again.”

The kid ignored his advice, thrusting a huge phone into his face. “You’d tell me if you’d seen this girl, wouldn’t you? I’ll make it worth your while. Money…” He snickered. “…or perhaps a piece of this? A finder’s fee, if you will...”

Finally, Sandor focused on the screen. It was a photo of Sansa in her underwear. From the horror on her face, she’d just realized she was being photographed and wasn’t happy about it.

Sandor’s rage spiraled out of control. He grabbed the kid’s phone in one hand and his neck with the other, slamming his smug face into the table. The kid cried for mercy, but not one of the other diners dared look up. Sandor pinned him there as he flicked through the pictures on the kid’s phone. There were dozens of Sansa in various states on undress taken from odd angles, almost like he’d been spying on her for some time. Some were clearly taken in the same room, though, and when he got to the ones where she was bruised or bloody, his grip tightened on the kid’s neck.

He deleted the photos and dropped the phone into his water glass for good measure. The kid shouted a colorful protest, but he wasn’t going anywhere. Sandor got as close to the kid’s ear as he could stand and said in a low voice, “No one’s seen this girl, and if you know what’s good for you, you won’t see her again, either.”

As soon as Sandor let him go, the kid leapt up and straightened his shirt. “You’ll pay for this!”

Sandor took a step toward him, and the kid ran back to his car as fast as he could go. Crossing his arms, Sandor watched the Mustang speed away, waiting another few minutes before he went to get Sansa.

He knocked on the door, his blood already cooling. “It’s me.”

She cracked the door and peered out beneath the hook. “Is it safe?”

Sandor nodded. “He’s gone.”

Sansa closed the door and he heard the hook drop. She opened the door and slipped into the hallway, oddly bashful. She followed him back to the table and gasped when she noticed the phone in the water glass. The kid’s sunglasses were smashed on the floor.

She hugged him so tight so suddenly, it knocked the breath out of his body.

Yeah, that was it. That was why he couldn’t breathe.

“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you, Sandor.”

She felt better than amazing. It was more than her body, although he was painfully aware of every curve—it was the intimacy of the contact that did him in. She hugged him like she loved him, and he couldn’t remember the last time someone had. Shit, you couldn’t pay women to do that. But she did it—unreserved and unselfconscious. She didn’t have an agenda, she was just…

Grateful.

Gratitude wasn’t the same as attraction, but he’d take what he could get. He allowed himself to return her hug briefly, his hand finding its natural home on the small of her back. Tucked under his chin, her hair smelled like citrus—lemon blossoms and honey. Her breasts pressed into his ribs, and just for a moment, it felt like she was his.

It was too much. He took a step back. “Your pie’s here,” he pointed out. He’d been so focused on the feel of her in his arms that he didn’t notice Peggy’s kid, Pod, leaving their pie and refilling their coffee.

Sansa was delighted to see it. She slid into the booth and picked up her fork, pausing only briefly to stare at the kid’s phone in the water. “Did…did he show you the pictures?”

He sat down across from her. Even anxious and vaguely sunburned, she still looked so delicious, he barely registered the hot apple pie sitting in front of him. He didn’t want to lie to her, but he didn’t see any good in admitting he’d seen her ex-boyfriend’s revenge porn. He nodded at the drowned phone. “I don’t reckon he’ll be able to recover them now.”

Sansa gave him a brilliant smile and took a satisfied bite of lemon meringue.

***

The next three hours were interesting.

Once she wasn’t distracted by her hunger or her fear of Joffrey, Sansa’s mind was free to wander.

Wander it did. While Sandor finally opened up a little about himself—he was from California, his family was mostly dead, his brother was some psycho cage fighter in prison for manslaughter—she listened intently, but mostly she ogled his arms. Without the shirt he’d loaned her, it was all the more apparent that his t-shirt was a good size too small. God bless standard sizes on exceptionally large men.

He was in his mid-thirties, older than she’d ever been attracted to before, but somehow she didn’t mind. He had PTSD and it was under control, but certain things gave him panic attacks. He even shared that he was a recovering alcoholic more than two years sober; once she got him talking, he wasn’t in any hurry to stop. Slowly, she got his life story piece by sardonic piece.

“What’s next for you?” He shifted the focus back onto her. “Now you’ve graduated and all that.”

She folded her arms, relaxing into the seat. “I don’t know. I grew up in Duluth, but now that my parents are gone, all of my siblings have scattered. There’s not a lot for me there now. I thought I might move down south if I like it where Arya is. I haven’t made up my mind.”

“Denver’s nice,” he offered.

“Where do you live?”

He went quiet for a long moment. “About twenty miles outside of Denver.”

She smiled to herself. Sandor was not like the boys she usually liked. He was a thirtysomething cross-country trucker, huge, scarred, and hairy as hell. She was surprised by how much she liked the idea of seeing him again.

“We’d never have to see each other,” he continued. “But I could check in from time to time if you want. Keep an eye on things in case that pissant is stupid enough to come looking for you.”

Her cheeks warmed. She liked that idea, too. “Would your wife mind?”

He snorted so hard it sounded like he choked. Sansa bit back a laugh. “Do I look the kind of guy someone would marry?”

Well, _yeah_. Once she’d gotten a good look at him in the light of the diner, she had been able to see quite clearly that he was remarkably handsome. Outrageously so, even. Sure, the scars were surprising at first, but they didn’t detract from the kindness in his eyes or the shape of his lips. For the first time in her life, she wondered what it would be like to kiss a man with a beard.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He almost flinched.

“I was thinking that anyone would be lucky to have you.”

He made a sound of disbelief so blunt and loud it was almost a bark. “Save your pretty words for someone who believes them. I don’t need you to flatter me. I know what I look like to girls like you.”

“Girls like me? What, unemployed fashion majors with ginger hair?” She scoffed. “I’m fairly certain you don’t.”

“Don’t I? Why’s that, then? Go on, surprise me.”

She coughed nervously. “You’re not unattractive, you know—”

He laughed. “That is some Grade-A, diplomatic bullshit if ever I’ve heard it. ‘Not unattractive.’ Is that what they teach you in finishing school these days? How to walk with books on your head and compliment ugly men with half-truths? I know your sort—”

Irritated, she snapped, “If you knew the first thing about anything, you’d know I’ve been eye-fucking you for the past three hours.”

Did she actually just say that? Actually, actually?

Judging by his gobsmacked expression, she really had.

She covered her mouth with both hands and groaned. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Forget I said anything.”

“What was that?” he asked. “I couldn’t make it out with your hands in your mouth.”

“I’m sorry!” she half-shouted. “I didn’t mean to make things weird. Just forget I said the stupid thing that I said, and we can go back to talking like normal people who have control over their words. Erm…what’s your favorite color?”

“Nice try, but there’s no way in hell I would forget you saying something like that. Are you winding me up?”

“No,” she whined, so embarrassed she felt like she could cry. “I mean…you’re a sexy guy, what do you want me to say? God, I’m such a spaz. What was in that pie?”

He didn’t say anything for a minute, but it felt like five. The glow in the distance was getting brighter, and lights and cars were more frequent. They passed a sign that said _Welcome to Cheyenne_.

They were almost to her hotel. In a few minutes, he’d drop her off and she’d never see him again. He’d probably be happy to be rid of her. He didn’t need to spend any more time with an irritating twenty-three year old crushing on him from the passenger seat.

When he finally said something, his voice was quiet. “You don’t mean that. You’re just grateful because I smashed your ex’s head into a table.”

Her heart sped up as she pictured it. “You did?” she asked, suddenly breathless.

He frowned as he took the exit toward her hotel. “You didn’t see that?”

“No, but now I wish I had.” She laughed. “Look, Sandor. It’s not that I’m not grateful—I am—but gratitude doesn’t govern attraction.”

“It doesn’t, does it?” He shot her a disbelieving look. “What does, then?”

Coming up too quickly was the hotel she’d booked for the night. Her heart sank at the thought of saying goodbye. “It was your eyes.”

***

Sandor didn’t say anything more about it. He didn’t say another word, in fact, except to ask her which hotel it was. He found it easily enough. Sansa had chosen the best-looking one off the highway so she would be able to leave easily the next morning. Now there was no way of telling how long she’d be here.

Fortunately, she still had her wallet, credit cards, and ID. She’d bought a generic phone charger from the truck stop, but that was all she had on her. She hoped the hotel would have some decent shampoo and a toothbrush. There was nothing she could do about her missing clothes but search for a mall in the morning. Usually she’d look forward to shopping, but tonight she couldn’t seem to muster the enthusiasm.

Her heart felt too heavy for her chest. She didn’t want to leave Sandor, but she didn’t understand why.

_He rescued me—twice—and he makes me feel safe. Mystery solved._

Even as she tried to rationalize it, that curious attraction flared and her gaze was drawn to him again. He wasn’t looking at her, but scanning the parking lot with a look of suspicion.

“What is it?” she asked.

“New cars.” He narrowed his eyes. “I’ve never seen this many flash cars at a place like this. You see that pissant’s Mustang?”

Goosebumps covered her arms as she looked. “I-I don’t see anything.”

He clenched his jaw. “I don’t like it. How many friends did you say he brought with him?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. He never does anything alone; he’s a coward without backup.”

“One…two…three…that’s a lot of Minnesota plates for Cheyenne.” He held the keys in the ignition as if considering starting up the truck again. “Did he know where you were staying?”

Sansa thought back to any times he could have overheard her plans. “My datebook,” she sighed as soon as she realized. “It was in the bag he stole.”

“I’m taking you somewhere else,” he said, starting up the truck again.

She didn’t argue. As he pulled back out onto the highway, her fear receded into guilt. “I’m sorry to put you to so much trouble. You must have a schedule of your own. What am I keeping you from?”

“I work for myself,” he said. “I should head out early, but I’m going to see you safe. I never get to play the hero.”

Sansa smiled. That’s exactly what he was.

Her smile faded as he pulled into a budget hotel a few miles down the highway. A far cry from the Hilton she’d booked, this one was a two-story dive with rooms accessed from the outside. A pop machine on the second level flickered in the dark. A bright yellow sign on the wall read: “$15/hour or $39/night. See why the Sleep Inn is Cheyenne’s Best Budget Motel!”

She stared at him as he parked the truck. “You’re kidding, right?”

He groaned. “It’s a good place. Clean. I know the owner.”

Sansa didn’t like it, but she let him help her out of the truck. After hours on the road, her legs were buzzing and her ass was sore. It felt good to be standing on solid ground again.

He went with her to check in, and since it was already so late at night, they gave her a deep discount. That had never happened at the Hilton. The key they gave her had a bright green vinyl tag with the motel’s name and logo embossed on the side in fading gold ink. She frowned as she read it. “Myr’s Motel?”

Sandor shrugged. “He changed the name a few years back. Figured he’d do better with a bad pun.”

He led her up the rickety stairs to her room and she unlocked the door. To her surprise, it was a perfectly pleasant—if seriously dated—little room. The carpet was newish, the windows were clean, and everything had been dusted. She marched over to the bed, pulled back the ‘70s brown floral bedspread, and started taking it apart.

He took off his hat and scratched his head. “What are you doing?”

“Checking for bedbugs,” she said, slightly out of breath. She turned around to look at him and all but forgot what she was doing. He took up the whole doorway, and without the hat, she got a better look at his hair. It was long for a man, wavy and dark.

She liked it.

He blinked, waiting for her assessment.

“Oh.” She blushed. “There aren’t any. They have allergen covers on the mattresses and pillows, and not all hotels do. I’m impressed, really.”

He crossed his arms with a sigh. “Okay to sleep on, is it?”

“Erm…yeah.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Where are you sleeping?”

Sandor blinked, clearly startled by the question. “Probably rent the room next door.”

“Oh.” Sansa nodded, trying not to let her disappointment show. “I suppose you’ll want your shirt back—”

“Keep it,” he said too quickly.

Sansa bit her lip to hide her smile. She took a tentative step toward him. “Will I see you in the morning?”

“Probably not. I should leave by eight.”

She was inches away from him now. Even though she knew it was time to say goodbye to him, her body seemed to propel her closer. Before she could think better of it, she stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Thank you,” she said, taking his hand in hers. While he stared at her, dumbstruck, she took a pen off the desk and started writing on his hand.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice sounding a little rawer than it had been moments before.

“I’m giving you my number,” she pointed out the obvious. “When my phone has a chance to charge, you can call me.” She signed it with her name and a heart.

He stared at it for a good long minute, like he was trying to figure out if it was going to bite him. Finally, he said, “Give me that pen.”

She did.

He took her hand in his, the contact sending a spark of electricity up her arm. “You’re out of your mind and you need your vision checked,” he said quietly, writing something on her palm. “But if you need help, call me and I’ll come get you.”

He turned around and walked away before she could work up the courage to ask him to stay.

*** 

Sandor was losing his mind.

He had five hours before he should leave again, but he couldn’t sleep. He slept in the truck so often that a room with a bed was a rare treat, even in this dive, but even so…

The minutes flipped by on the clock. 1:20.

1:21.

1:22.

The floodlights in the parking lot seemed to burn through the tatty curtains and into his brain. The sink dripped in the bathroom, not a steady tapping but a series of sad, irregular plops.

Plop...plop…

1:23.

Plop.

1:24.

1:25.

Plop.

Sandor pulled a pillow over his face and groaned into the cheap cotton. He should be exhausted. Why was he still awake?

He threw the pillow across the room, and a sexy little heart caught his attention. He looked at his palm.

(218) 555-1227 Sansa <3

He still couldn’t believe she’d given him her number. Women didn’t give him their numbers, let alone women like Sansa. She was too young for a guy like him, too sweet, too clean. She was the kind of girl who went to church on Sundays, the kind of girl who went out for brunch. She had probably never done anything irresponsible in her life. Hell, she probably wore white cotton panties, for fuck’s sake.

The image of her in white cotton panties made his throat go dry. He swallowed. Come to think of it, she’d been wearing pink ones in the photo on that little shit’s phone. Black in some, orange in others. All the colors of the rainbow on her curvy little hips.

_I’ve been eye-fucking you for the past three hours._

What color was she wearing now? She was probably tucked into bed like the angel she was, sleeping soundly and dreaming of Abercrombie models with muscle cars.

_You’re a sexy guy, what do you want me to say?_

But what if she wasn’t? What if she was awake like he was? What is she was tangled up in the sheets with her hands between her legs, her panties of pink or black or orange twisted around her ankles, her lip between her teeth as she thought of--

“SANDOR!”

Her shout was real enough. He sat up in bed, his illicit fantasy forgotten. Did she scream, or was he losing his mind?

Another scream followed. He ran out the door.

Sansa’s door was open. The lamp was on the floor, the shade broken. She was nowhere to be found.

A scream echoed through the parking lot. Finally, he saw her--she was over some guy’s shoulder, her long red hair streaming behind him. The guy was carrying her toward a familiar red Mustang at the other side of the parking lot. He was big and fast, but

Sandor was bigger, faster, and he was furious.

Before he could reach the car, Sandor caught up to him. He cracked him over the head with a tire iron and caught Sansa as he stumbled. He threw her over his own shoulder, wielding the tire iron like a mace. When the guy turned around to fight and got a good look at him, he cowered in fear.

Maybe it was the tire iron. Maybe it was his face.

Maybe it was the fact that he had been sleeping in his boxers and he was almost naked.

Regardless, the kid looked ready to piss himself. He climbed into the waiting car and shouted, “Drive!”

The driver was the blond twat from the diner. Sandor didn’t catch every word he said, but it sounded like he was demanding that the guy get out and grab Sansa.

“You weren’t listening,” Sandor seethed. He smashed the windshield with the tire iron and both men in the car screamed like little girls. “If I see you around here again, I’ll put this somewhere you’re not going to like. It’s got enough spokes for you and two more of your friends. See if I’m joking.”

The car peeled out of the parking lot, leaving behind long rubber skid marks and a shower of plexiglass.

Sandor grunted to himself. “Twat.”

Sansa shifted on his shoulder, and he was suddenly very aware that his hand was wrapped around her naked thigh. He supposed he was the hero in this scenario, but he felt more like King Kong.

“Hang on, Little Bird.” He shuffled back across the parking lot, feeling every irregularity in the black top beneath his bare feet. He hadn’t noticed it before. Funny, that. He carried her up the creaky steps and into his room, setting her on the edge of his bed.

She looked more than a little dazed. Her hair was a mess.

He left her there a moment as he went to get her things from her room. Her purse, phone, and clothes had been piled together on a chair, and he grabbed it all at once. He closed the door behind him and carried the lot of it into his room, locking the door behind him. “You’re staying in here tonight,” he said. “They might be stupid enough to come back.”

Sansa didn’t argue. Her eyes were bright and her face was flushed like she’d been running. He thought it was shock until her gaze drifted down his chest.

Oh right. He should probably put some clothes on.

She bit her lip, and it was so much like his fantasy, all he could do was stare.

“Three times,” she said at last. “You saved me three times in one night.”

He ran a hand through his hair, feeling about fifteen and awkward as hell. As covered up as she was, she still seemed oddly exposed. The sleeves were rolled up and still hung low on her wrists. The collar gaped, and every inch of her long, long legs was visible beneath the olive green hem.

Sandor swallowed. “You’re wearing my shirt.”

The innocence in her expression was spoiled by the arch of an eyebrow and the hint of saucy smile. She popped open a button, exposing the inner curve of one perfect breast. “Did you want it back?”

***

Sansa’s hands shook as she undid the second button. Only two more and she’d be completely exposed, a fact that Sandor seemed to be more than aware of as he gaped at her from across the room.

No one had ever looked at her with such hunger. She felt like Little Red Riding Hood sizing up the wolf’s jaws, and all the sudden that fairytale took on altogether different light.

_What big eyes you have._

She swallowed. She pushed the third button through the hole and--

“Stop.”

Sansa froze, unable to even guess at what would happen next. She’d never done this before. Maybe he wanted to take it off himself? With any luck, he’d do it with his teeth.

He dropped to his knees between her legs and she gasped in surprise. Instead of what she’d been expecting--okay, hoping for--he buttoned the shirt back up, top to bottom, with the focus of a surgeon. He didn’t look up or down, he just concentrated on the buttons with a frown creasing his brow.

“What--?” she started to ask, but stopped at the look of pain on his face.

Sandor got up and all but threw the rest of his clothes at her, and hers as well. “Put those on.”

Her laugh caught in her throat. “What, all of them?”

“Yes, all of them.” He ran a hand through his hair, careful not to look at her. “And when you’re through, we’re wrapping you up in that blanket as well. I don’t want to see more than your nose until sunrise.”

She held up his trousers. “You really want me to wear these?”

“Anything,” he said. “If you don’t cover up those legs…” He shook his head.

She smiled. “That’s rather the idea.”

His grimace told her he knew she was trying to seduce him. Instead of taking her up on it, he pulled the covers from the bed and wrapped her up so only her head and feet were free. He frowned at the result, then covered up her feet, too. “It’s no use,” he said. “I can still see your face.”

Sansa laughed nervously. “This is officially weird.”

“Weird?” he repeated. “Weird?! What’s weird is you coming in here with your legs and your eyes and your freckles and your sexy goddamned smile, teasing me like I ever had a bloody chance. I don’t know what sick mind games girls from Minnesota play, but if you look at a man like that out here, you’ll get fucked six ways from Sunday. You ought to thank your lucky stars I’m feeling heroic today.”

Sansa blinked. It took her a full minute to process what he was saying. “Look, I’m not good at this. I’ve never done this before. Can I take off this blanket? I feel ridiculous.” She shrugged out the blanket, keeping it wrapped around her waist. “I want you.” She sighed. “It feels weird to say that, to be that honest, but I guess I’m sick of being hard to get. I want you, and I think you want me, too. Am I wrong?”

He sank into the chair opposite the bed. “Never done what before?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Never done what before?” he asked. “Come onto a trucker in a cheap motel, or been honest about what you want?”

She tucked a long piece of hair behind her ear. This was not how she imagined the night going. “Neither.” She bit her lip, wondering how much to tell him. Would it creep him out that she was a virgin? One way to find out… “I’ve never actually had sex before.”

His eyes looked ready to pop out of his head. “You’re a virgin.”

She nodded.

He looked at the ceiling like he was praying. “There’s no way in hell we’re doing this tonight.”

More than a little disappointed, she sighed. “I’m sorry, I guess I misread some signals--”

“You didn’t,” he snapped. “But you don’t know what you’re asking. I will not take advantage of a woman depending on me to keep her safe. You’ve clearly been abused, your car’s a couple hundred miles away, and you’re confused because you’re grateful. I could fuck you blind. I could hurt you in ways you’ve never even dreamt of, desecrate each and every stunning inch of you three times over before anyone finds you, but I won’t. Let me be the hero a little while longer.”

Sansa blinked stupidly. She was still on ‘fuck you blind.’ “You could do both.”

He shook his head. “Not very heroic, is it?”

She shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

“I do.” He crossed his arms over his chest, only really drawing attention to how broad it was. Broad, heavily muscled, and hairy as hell. He was the complete polar opposite of every man--no, boy--she’d ever fancied, but she liked it.

Her gaze travelled south until it reached a rather spectacular pair of thighs. This man did not skip leg day. She licked her lips.

“Stop it!” he half-shouted.

“You’re being ridiculous. If you don’t want me, fine, but it’s not fair to keep me covered up when you’re a walking thirst trap.”

He frowned. “A what?”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “You look like the big, bad wolf. I want to climb you like a goddamned tree.”

Sandor’s mouth dropped open. He blinked.

She’d shocked him into silence.

From the next room, they could hear a bed banging against the wall. A woman shouted, “Bend the knee!” and the banging got louder. It didn’t help.

They both ignored it.

Sandor looked at her sideways, like he was trying to figure out what was wrong with her. “You’re serious?”

She groaned in frustration. “I’ve already embarrassed myself enough tonight, so if you don’t want to do this, do me a favor and put on some pants.”

Sandor glanced down as if he just remembered he was in his underwear. He grabbed his trousers off the bed pulled them on. “Better?”

She sighed. Did she really want him to put that chest away? “Yes?”

He sniffed, satisfied. He flipped the light off at the wall and sat back down in the chair. The light creeping through the blinds settled in blades of white across the unscarred side of his face, over his shoulder, and down the length of his arm. “Get some sleep,” he said, his voice softer and warmer than it had been moments before.

Fat chance. “Are you joking?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

Sansa’s irritated sigh filled the room. She got up with some difficulty, held the blanket around her waist, and climbed into his lap.

He tensed and his hands flew up. “What the hell?”

She settled into his shoulder, her palm over his heart and her face pressed against his neck. “Shut up,” she said.

He did.

***

Sansa’s phone woke him up.

She was sleeping like an angel in his arms, her hair streaming over his chest and her breath soft against his throat. They were still in the chair and her ass was perched on the most painful, persistent hard on he’d had in his life. She’d all but begged him to fuck her the night before, but he hadn’t. Either he was the best man on earth or the stupidest.

“Girl,” he whispered. “Your phone’s ringing.”

She woke up, clearly disoriented. He waited for her horrified expression as she saw his face in the light of day and it dawned on her where she was.

It never came.

She smiled a slow, lazy smile and kissed him on the cheek.

She kissed him.

He watched, bewildered, as she hopped up and grabbed her phone on the last ring. “Hello? This is Sansa. Oh, hi! Yes. Yes, that’s my car. It what? Oh, God. Yes. I’m in Cheyenne. My, erm...my boyfriend picked me up.” She winked at him.

The blood drained from his face so quickly he felt dizzy. She’d left the blanket on his lap and paced around the room in nothing more than his shirt and a little pair of lacy panties. He tried to look away, but his eyes settled on her ankles and he immediately imagined them over his shoulders.

“Yes, that would be perfect. Thank you so much. I’ll wait here for him. Gary, you said? Oh, Gendry. That’s an unusual name. Okay. About two o’clock?”

Sandor took a deep breath and let it out sloooooowly. It was far too early for this level of self-control. He grabbed his shirt and wallet and ducked out to find some coffee.

***

Seconds after Sandor left, the door flew open and a shadow slipped in.

Sansa blinked. “Arya?! How did you find me?”

"I put a tracking app on your phone." Arya glanced out the door after Sandor’s retreating back and motioned for Sansa to follow her. “My car’s right outside. You hide in the backseat and I’ll take him out.”

Sansa was so startled she almost dropped her phone. “Out? For what?”

Arya was clearly irritated. “Don’t play naive. I’m saving you. Get in the car and wait until you see my signal. I know a place we can dump the body.”

“Arya!” Sansa snapped. “That’s not funny. That’s Sandor. He saved me from Joffrey three times last night.”

“I wasn’t joking.” Her little sister narrowed her eyes at the shirt Sansa was wearing. They widened when they read the name patch. She silently mouthed _Hound._ “Is that the only thing he did three times last night?”

Sansa’s face burned. “He’s a good guy. I like him.”

Arya cackled. “What, the guy with ‘Grave Digger’ painted across the back of his truck?”

“What?” Sansa hadn’t seen that.

“Are you his 'old lady' now?”

Sansa tucked her hair behind her ear, looking for her shorts. “Would that be so bad?”

“Not bad, just surprising.”

The door opened again, and Sandor walked in with two cheap plastic cups of vending machine coffee. He balked when he noticed Arya appraising him. “Who the hell are you?”

Arya snatched a cup of coffee from his hand before he noticed it was gone. “Arya. Are you going to make an honest woman out of my sister?”

“Ignore her, she’s just being an asshole.” Sansa ran a hand over her face. “Sandor, this is my sister, Arya. Arya, this is my--um, Sandor.”

She gave him a cheeky smile. “You must be Hound.”

He frowned at her and handed Sansa the other cup of coffee. “The Hound.”

“The Hound?” Arya repeated. “Like the artist formerly known as Prince?”

“What is with you Minnesota girls? Don’t you have any other celebrities?” He grabbed his few things from around the room, pulling his hat low over his head and slipping his keys into his pocket. “I had better hit the road. Will you two be alright?”

“No,” Sansa said at the same time Arya said, “Yes.”

Sansa’s heart ached to see him go so soon, but then again, he was always going to. “Arya, could you give us a minute?”

Arya crossed her arms. “Is that a good idea?”

Sansa clenched her teeth. “Arya, would you please fuck off?”

“Meow.” Arya laughed. “Fine. I’m going to see if there’s anything to eat around here.”

Once Arya left, Sansa didn’t know what to say. She looked at her hands and found Sandor’s number could still be read there in marker. She’d add him to her contacts before it faded.

He cleared his throat. “Your sister is...delightful.”

She laughed. “That’s one word for it.”

He leaned against the door and gazed at her with those sad, dark eyes. “Will you be okay?”

She nodded. “I’ll be okay. Will you call me?”

He didn’t look at his hands, but he ran his thumb across his palm where she had drawn the heart the night before. “I’ll be in Albuquerque for a few days. Tell me when you get there. I want to know you’re safe. You can give me the shirt back then.”

Before he could object, she crossed the room toward him and slid her arms around his neck. She took advantage of his surprise and kissed him. She was in no hurry. She took her time, kissing him so slowly and thoroughly that her knees turned to honey. He would never be able to doubt her attraction to him again.

Once he let himself respond, his kiss was brutal but honest and oddly sweet, not unlike the man himself. It left her breathless.

“You can have it back,” she said. “But you’ll have to take it off yourself.”

**The End**


End file.
